


Timelines

by darlingdearheart



Category: Sanctuary (TV), The Secret Adventures of Jules Verne
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4503024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingdearheart/pseuds/darlingdearheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Called to Downing Street on a matter of national security (or so they say), Helen Magnus must ally with world traveler extraordinaire, Phileas Fogg, to restore peace to his timeline... And perhaps have a few adventures in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Phileas Fogg and Helen Magnus Meet

**Author's Note:**

> I possess an indiscriminate love both for Sanctuary and for SAJV, shows which I believe came before their time and which neglected to receive enough attention back in the day. Secret Adventures doesn't even have DVDs for goodness sake! That said, I thought of this crossover/pairing many moons ago (likely late at night as is my habit) and thought I'd try my hand at my first multi-series fanfiction piece. If you're reading this story, you're probably a fan of one or the other, and I hope you enjoy this little... whatever it is. This story begins a short while after "Let There Be Light" in SAJV-land and between 1889-91 in the Sanctuary verse.

"It's a matter of National security, Ms. Magnus..."

"Doctor."

" _Doctor_  Magnus."

Of  _course_  it was. There was always something insecure going on nationally. And, naturally, the government, or Secret Service, or whomsoever was supposed to be in charge of these matters, required her help. Helen looked up from the paper they'd given her to read and raised a delicate brow.  _Surely_  they must be joking.

"Gentlemen," she began softly, so as not to frighten or confuse their simple minds, "I don't believe that this is necessary. Certainly there is little cause for concern."

"Keep reading," one of the men instructed.

With a barely-concealed huff of disdain, she did as told and returned to the document. She was white as a sheet by the time she made it to the end.

_Blackmail. Their angle was blackmail._

She spoke, gaze averted, when she was sure she could trust her voice. "How do you know about John–?"

"Careful investigation," someone replied with great haste. "As you can clearly see," he persuaded, "this sort of thing should be right up your alley, as they say."

She wished it weren't.

"Then I can gather my own team. I don't need a handful of your amateurs," Helen retorted, though it appeared that she was fighting a losing battle.

"I think you will find our 'amateurs' to be anything but, Doctor Magnus."

With something of a remorseful sigh, she conceded. "Very well. When am I to meet them?"

"Noon tomorrow."

"Where?"

"Here."

Simple enough.

"Until then..." She rose to leave.

"Oh, and Doctor Magnus... Our dear friend Doctor Watson need not know about this little endeavour, hmm?"

The blonde humoured him with her best false smile and a bat of her lashes.

"No, indeed not."

 

* * *

 

It was pouring rain as she made her way to Downing Street the next morning. No one had anticipated the downpour, and as such a great many people were in the same boat as she: Drenched, nearly soaked through. To Helen's credit, all grumbles and gripes were kept to herself as she trudged onward through the copious amount of puddles. She turned miserably onto Downing Street at long last, and rammed straight into someone's back.

"My apologies–!" she began quickly as the gentleman wheeled around, no doubt ready to go in for the kill.

But once he'd fully turned, his gaze softened to something of amusement. Helen figured it was because she must look like a drowned cat and he took pity on her.

"Quite alright," he assured, his stupid little smirk threatening to become a full-blown smile. "I dare say the same cannot be said for you..."

 _No, I dare say it can't,_  Helen thought bitterly. "I'll be fine once I'm inside," she replied instead, forcing a smile.

"When might you be getting there?" he queried over the din of the rain.

Helen pointed to the door of the building on her left. "Just there." _  
_

The stranger's smirk turned to a grin. "Then you must allow me to escort you— I'm headed there as well." He offered his arm and Helen gratefully accepted.

 

Once inside, they rid themselves of their outerwear and were bade sit and wait. It was then that Helen, damp and uncomfortable though she was, deduced that this man sitting in the chair next to her in his frankly outdated fashions must be one of the people with whom she was scheduled to meet.

"I beg your pardon," her subject of scrutiny began quietly, the corridors demanding a reverent silence, "but I don't believe I've introduced myself."

"You haven't," she confirmed with a smirk of her own, now. "Nor I to you. Doctor Helen Magnus." She extended her hand for him to shake, though he merely grasped it in his.

"The infamous Doctor Magnus! I thought you'd be a man—!" His eyes widened at the realization of what he'd just said." You must forgive me, I meant nothing by it."

She snickered softly at his panic, which she knew was cruel of her. Helen was confident she could grow to like this man. "There's nothing to forgive, Mr.–?"

"Fogg!" he exclaimed quickly. He felt like a bumbling fool around this woman, and got the distinct impression that most men did. "Phileas Fogg."

Helen stared at him for a long time, until he looked away and feared he must have broken her. Phileas set her hand on the arm of her chair and softly cleared his throat as he took up observing the wood grain on the wall paneling across the way. Oh, but they were off to such a  _fantastic_ start.

"My sincerest apologies, Mr. Fogg," Helen started at length, "but are you truly  _the_  Phileas Fogg? Who traveled–"

"Around the world in eighty days," he finished," yes."

The blonde's face lit up instantaneously. "Incredible!"

"Ah, not so," he was quick to correct. "My dear friend, Mr. Verne, takes quite the liberty with that tale, so I've heard."

"But the great majority of it must be true... What about Jean Passepartout? And Princess Aouda?"

Phileas chuckled softly. "Passepartout, yes. You'll have the...  _pleasure_  of meeting him shortly, I expect. Aouda..." His gaze turned distant as memories of a little Texan hostess came flooding back to open the still-fresh wounds. "Well, as I said, _liberties_..."

Helen gave him a small smile, his sudden sadness not lost on her. "Well, at the very least, I shall very much enjoy my meeting with Passepartout. Though, surely it's not just the two of you?"

He shook his head. "My cousin, Rebecca, often accompanies us, as does young Mr. Verne."

Helen found herself gaping once again. She and Jules were rather good friends; had been for years, though he'd never told her of these people, nor their exploits.

"He's never mentioned you before..." She furrowed her brow of a sudden and locked eyes with the man beside her. "I'm sorry... Did you say a  _young_  Mr. Verne?" The Jules Verne she knew was certainly anything but young.

"I did indeed..." Now it was Phileas' turn to frown. "You speak as if you know him."

Helen nodded enthusiastically. "I do! That's to say, I  _think_  I do... As I said, he's never–"

She was interrupted and forced to a halt as both she and Mr. Fogg were bade join the Prime Minister for their discussion.

 

An agonizing hour and a half later, they were dismissed, Helen bustling off ahead in a hurry.

"Ms. Magnus!" Phileas called after her retreating form.

" _Doctor_ ," she called back habitually as her pace quickened.

"Yes,  _Doctor_ , sorry!" he amended hastily. "Please wait; allow me to explain."

The doctor whirled around, skirts swooshing and her eyes searing.

"Time travel!" she exclaimed indignantly, hands balling into fists. "They must be  _mad_!"

"I assure you, they're not," Phileas hedged carefully, taking a small step toward her. "Please..."

Something about the desperate tone of his voice made Helen relent, albeit minimally. Her fists unclenched and she straightened, gently clearing her throat.

"Mr. Fogg–"

"Phileas."

" _Phileas_ ," she began again, softer, "I have worked with all manner of creatures, most of which few people can scarcely imagine. Now, I'm sorry that one has got loose in your timeline, but to meddle with time is irresponsible and extremely dangerous."

He closed the gap between them in a few strides, and Helen could see that sadness lurking once more in his dark eyes.

"We wouldn't ask were this not of the utmost importance, Doctor Magnus. We–"

"It's 'Helen'," she interjected quietly.

"We need your help, Helen. Desperately."

Something told her that his anguish was connected somehow to this Abnormal that he and the English government so badly wanted her to set timelines askew to capture. At last she nodded, and saw several of the lines she'd thought permanent disappear from his forehead as he smiled.

"I will at least agree to see this machine..." She didn't want him to think he was getting off easily.

"Naturally," he affirmed.

Linking her arm through his proffered one, they set off into the rain anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that was a moderately enjoyable read! :) Apologies for any errors/issues in characterization; I wrote this a very long time ago.


	2. In Which Phileas Fogg and Helen Magnus Part Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great many thanks to the lovely folks who've left Kudos! I expected a grand total of nobody to read this, so it's very kind of you to have done so.  
> This is all that is written of this story, and I doubt if there will ever be more. Well... Not entirely true- there is an epilogue to accompany this, but it is Helen-driven and involves much angst, death, and general sadness.  
> Perhaps that will be posted one day, but for now, here is the next and final installment...

The sun shone brightly as the Aurora drifted serenely over a glistening lake and towards her next destination. It was hard to believe that it had already been a year; a year since a skeptical Helen Magnus had signed on to deal with an Abnormal (which had actually turned out to be a puzzle-pieced-together madman) in another time... It seemed increasingly surreal the more she let it tumble around in her head.

But the wonders she'd seen, the people she'd met–! A smile graced her lips at the thought.

Jean Passepartout had been all she'd expected from her readings, and then some. Jules Verne she'd come to know far better than she ever had— something for which she was eternally grateful. And in Rebecca Fogg, Helen had found a kindred spirit. The two had instantly bonded and were discussing the best ways to take down a man whilst wearing skirts and a corset before the eve of their first meeting was through. In short, Helen had become fast friends with them all...

Except Phileas Fogg.

Phileas was another story, entirely.

Phileas she absolutely adored beyond all hope and reason.

He was an adventurous spirit, not unlike herself, and in the early days, the two would often be found discussing all manner of fantastical and intellectual topics well into the night. And, one day, out of the blue, they had progressed from friends to that 'something more'. He'd taken her hand in his, and it had felt absolutely right.

So how had it all come to this?

Helen sighed softly as she leaned against the railing and continued to watch the world pass her by. They were over a section of forest, now, that was unable to hold her attention for very long. Turning her gaze skyward, she fought back the tears threatening to spill forth.

She had to tell him. Today.

As if on a badly-timed cue, Helen felt strong yet gentle arms encircling her waist, and she tried not to shift uncomfortably. Instead, she laid her hands atop his, where they joined at her middle, feeling guilty for drawing strength from them.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?" came a voice by her ear.

Helen chuckled as she felt his chin come to rest on her shoulder, his nearly-grey hair brushing against her cheek. She turned her head slightly, just enough to press a soft, tender kiss to his temple. "It's astounding. Positively breathtaking," she replied at length.

"What has you so glum?"

_Perceptive, as always._

"Nothing. Why on earth would you think I'm 'glum'?"

"My dear Helen," he started, turning to kiss her neck, "there is  _something_  troubling you. Passepartout says that you've been staring out at the landscape since you came down this morning."

The Aurora's navigator was one of those rare treasures of people in that he could be exceedingly bright and, at precisely the same time, exceedingly dim.

"So I have," Helen remarked.

Phileas gave her a gentle squeeze. "Then tell me what's troubling you."

A moment, then, "I want to go home."

She'd spoken so softly that he almost hadn't heard her over the hum of the airship.

"We should be there within the hour," he said in answer, but his happy demeanour began to fade. He'd heard the peculiar tone in her voice, however quiet, and inexplicably he knew that she did not merely mean London.

"Phileas–"

"No," he interrupted harshly, not wanting to venture down this road, not wanting to think about going back to his life before her, without her... Not wanting to remember the small velvet box that now weighed very heavy in his pocket.

She turned in his arms to face him and gazed up with such sadness that it made him physically hurt.

"I don't mean anything by this, Phileas. That's to say," she went on, "it isn't that I haven't enjoyed my time here with you— all of you... But I miss home. My father, and James..." She smoothed her hands over his immaculately-pressed lapels with a quiet sigh.

"Of course you miss them," Phileas began, trying valiantly to swallow the lump in his throat. "You agreed to help us, which you did, and then you were to return home...  Which you didn't."

"I couldn't. I came to know you." The corner of her mouth upturned minutely.

He smiled and kissed her briefly. "I promise you that the very moment we arrive back in London, we'll visit whomever you please," he assured with a grin.

Yet her face remained remorseful, and so became his.

"I don't belong here," Helen confessed at length.

"You do. You belong here with me."

She winced at the pain in his voice and felt positively guilty. "I'm a walking paradox in this time... You must understand that."

"Then I will join you in yours–"

"There is already a Phileas Fogg in my time! We encounter the same problem. It's not meant to be!"

He pulled away from her, refusing to accept that, and stalked to the opposite side of the dirigible without another word.

Helen watched him, or rather his back, for what seemed an eternity. Already she missed the security of his arms and the unabashed adoration in his eyes. She knew that, by doing this, she was driving him into another depression. Rebecca had related unto her the circumstances of his previous bouts, and Helen feared this would inevitably lead to another.

Slowly, she approached him, gently splaying her hand across his back when she came close enough. She felt his muscles tense, and eventually began to knead them away. It was only after his shoulders had slumped that she felt him shaking and realized he was in tears.

"Phileas," she chastised softly, taking his face in her hands.

He looked at her, bleary-eyed, trying to reel in his emotions.

"I love you. I truly, truly do. This decision... It doesn't make me love you any less. It's something I have to do."

Helen kissed him soundly as he held her close once more, kissing her with such passion that she went weak in the knees. But she knew him too well. He only kissed her like this when he was upset. Soon, his lips had found their way to her neck again, and he kept his face tucked there while Helen continued stroking his hair.

He had to memorize this. Every sigh she uttered, her scent,  _everything_ , down to the very last little detail. Damn him if he should ever forget.

 

* * *

It poured rain the day she left. Ironic, really, given that they had first met under those very same circumstances. Phileas clutched her small form to him, wanting never to let go.

But she pushed lightly at his chest, and, with great reluctance, he released her.

"Helen–"

"Please don't say anything," she interrupted, looking up at him with tears in her sparkling blue eyes.

"One thing?" he pleaded. "Just one."

She nodded her consent with the beginnings of a smile.

"I love you."

"And I, you."

She stood on her toes, then, and kissed him for the very last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to anyone who has read this, and I hope you enjoyed reading.  
> If there is any interest in it at all, as I said, I may one day post the epilogue for "optional reading".
> 
> ♥


End file.
